


In Celebration

by JazzRaft



Series: In Weakness & In Strength [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Birthday Presents, Fluff, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 22:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16627571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Prompto wakes up to another ordinary day. Good breakfast, good weather, good exercise. Until he's reminded that it's his birthday. Not so good. Not until Cor gives him a gift.





	In Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> Originally filled on [tumblr](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/180126563137/omg-i-didnt-know-today-was-promptos-birthday) for an anonymous request. A very, very belated birthday to the sunshine boy!

5:00 AM

His alarm chimes through the lively jaunt distinguished for chocobo fan culture, bouncing from his phone speakers to brighten the off-darkness before dawn. He does not hit snooze. He sits up, he yawns, and he stretches, stays for a moment to acclimate to the fact he’s awake, then gets up.

A glass of cold water, quick oatmeal in the microwave, loaded up with the good stuff – applesauce, cinnamon, sprinkles on some raisins at the end (watching Ignis in the kitchen when he’s over at Noct’s has taught him a trick or two for sneaking in healthy ingredients) – and he’s cleaning up, ready to go out. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, takes a picture in the mirror, and throws on his sweats.

Crosses out October 25th on the calendar.

Another ordinary day, keeping on track. The month was nearly over, and so was the year. No time to start slacking off now! He locks the door, stretches on the curb, takes a breath to fill his lungs with sharp autumn air, and he’s off at a brisk pace through the still sleeping streets of urban Insomnia.

The cool, autumn weather before dawn has been a welcome relief and motivator for running after the humid, summer days. It was easier in the fall. He needed to take advantage of it before the roads were snowed over, come winter. He’ll do his laps, round back home for a shower and some clothes, zip back out for a light, meal after burning off breakfast, and log in for Crownsguard training at the Citadel.

He was feeling pretty good about today. Until Gladio caught up with him on his route, like he sometimes did, big grin and a bigger paw slapping him on the back in his usual greeting, and said, “Hey, shouldn’t you give yourself a break on your birthday?”

…Oh. _Crap._

“Is it that time of year already?” Prompto had laughed, pretending he was out of breath just to have an excuse for the pitifully weak sound of his voice.

“Same as every year,” Gladio boomed. He was never out of breath. Ever. Not even to fake it. Hashtag goals, right there. “You’re meeting up with us at Noct’s later. Three o’ clock. We’re taking you out on the town.”

It had not been a question, whether or not he would attend. Not an invitation with “check yes or no” for him to opt out from. They were going to celebrate his birthday with him… The birthday he regularly forgot he had. The day that never held any special significance for him growing up because the people around him weren’t there to care. And once he’d grown up – once he _knew –_ it just felt like a lie, sharing the traditions which celebrated birth when he’d never been “born” in the first place.

But his friends didn’t know that. And they never _would_ know that – not if he could help it. His friends were good, and kind, and for some reason, they seemed to like it when he was around. Ignis was hospitable, Gladio was warm and welcoming, and Noctis was so generous with his time and his attention and it still shocked Prompto how much of it he didn’t mind wasting on him.

There was no denying Gladio’s smile, no matter the feelings of guilt Prompto had towards the date on his “birth certificate.” He’d forced on a smile himself – he was even better at faking that – and had said, “I’ll be there!”

Now, amidst the passing, cordial mutterings of his fellow cadets – How come everyone remembered his birthday better than he did? And how come they were all so sweet about it, offering him all these well wishes when they barely even knew him? – Prompto tried to convince himself that his existence was worth celebrating, just long enough to make it through his friends’ little outing without cueing them in to something being wrong.

“Something wrong?”

Cor never seemed to need any cueing in to know when something wasn’t quite right. The Marshal wasn’t nearly as dense as Prompto sometimes overheard the King and his Shield teasing. (He really should stop eavesdropping, lest he be arrested for spying, exposed as a Niflheim sleeper agent, and thrown in a lab somewhere to have his brain picked apart for enemy secrets… Also, it was just rude to eavesdrop on his best friends’ dads.)

Prompto shook his head and looked up at Cor. “Nah,” he lied. “Today’s been good.” That part, not so much a lie.

“Yes. I understand there’s a reason for that.”

Now, in the sprinkle of years Prompto had been undergoing Crownsguard training, he’d gotten to know Cor Leonis fairly well. Not in a “hey, want to meet up for drinks after practice and bitch about politics” kinda well; more like a “hey, you didn’t cleave my head off with your fancy schmancy sword for denting that heirloom shield hanging in the barracks, that must mean we’re cool!” kinda well.

He knew that the Marshall was more than his glare, was the point. Though he was definitely still _not_ prone to expressions of warm, fuzzy feelings the likes of which were expected for occasions such as birthdays.

So, when Cor presented a cold, metal suitcase to Prompto with the ever-present scowl of a man immune to the joys of morning caffeine boosts, he breathed a sigh of relief. He would have been worried if Cor cracked a smile and handed him a colorfully wrapped birthday box with just as colorful sentiments showered upon him as he tore it open.

“Did I win the lottery?” Prompto asked, taking the case like he was afraid it might open up and bite him – that happened to him once… twice… many times… in a video game. “Because this looks like the kind of case that holds the lottery.”

He glanced up, unsure why he expected Cor’s face to crack with a hint as to the contents of the box. But Cor was an even more authentic rendition of a steel case than the thing in Prompto’s hands, arms locked across his chest, eyes as unblinking as LED laser security beams. Prompto was _so_ tempted to shake the box. But he got the impression Cor might rip it from his hands and bash him over the head with it if he did. He still had a party to meet up with after this. Couldn’t risk a knock-out and worrying Noct (heh, _Noct_ -out, he’d have to remember that one).

Prompto lifted the latches and peered into the velvety interior. And he was right to worry that the thing might kill him.

Because it was a gun.

A very shiny, very fine, very state-of-the-art, Lucian Crownsguard designated gun. With a gleaming silver barrel and an etched leather grip, polished to perfection and never once used – he could smell it if it was – no trace of gunpowder or kingspower burned along the exit of the barrel. This was brand new, fresh from the royal forge, a work of art more than a weapon, not something he could bring himself to touch lest the fingerprints smudge the faultless surface.

“Well… it’s not the lottery jackpot,” Prompto laughed, nervously. “But it sure does look like a million bucks.”

“It’s yours. If that wasn’t clear.”

Prompto’s head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. And he nearly dropped the gorgeous, lethal weapon to scuff across the dirty ground and mar its glossy finish forever.

“No no no no no no no it’s not,” he stuttered, completely flummoxed (yeah, “flummoxed,” that was the word for it, he heard Ignis say it once; he thought it was appropriate, and he thought he’d be proud of his use for it; thoughts of his friends and their distinguished vernacular helped to pace out his racketing heartbeat).

“You’re past the point of having earned a weapon of your own,” Cor said, over Prompto’s stumbling scraps of half-denials. “You’ve advanced beyond dummy rounds and practice rifles. It’s about time we got you into working with the real thing.”

“B-but… I haven’t passed the exam! I don’t have a license for this!”

“It’s not the kind of gift I can let you take home,” Cor told him, the barest bump in his brow exposing his annoyance – over Prompto and his dumb assumptions? Over the imperfect execution of giving the gift? He had no idea, his brain wasn’t working. “It’ll stay here, in the Crownsguard vaults, for you to use within the confines of the Citadel shooting galleries at your leisure.”

This was a _gift_ … This was _more_ than a gift. There wasn’t a word in his vocabulary – or the dictionary he’d learned from listening to Iggy talk – that defined how he felt about this. This marked progress, change, _trust_. This was a glinting silver grin promising him a future he never expected to deserve.

Yes, it was a gun. Yes, there might have been a laundry list of reasons why that would be controversial to consider as a gift. Yes, it was still under Crownsguard lock and key, it wasn’t a toy he could take home and play with.

It was so, _so_ much more than that.

It was a symbol. A sign. An implicit order of faith in who he’d become and who he wanted to be.  Who Cor _believed_ he could be. And on today, of all the days, where he felt least like that person – where he felt the lie pressing down on him so much heavier than any other day of the year…

He jumped to his feet, box clutched in white knuckled hands – hand to a wrist with a secret that, for just one moment, he forgot he was keeping. He thought he might drop the box and toss his arms around Cor in a hug. He thought he might cry. And not because it was such a beautiful gift, not because it was his birthday and everyone gave a damn that it was.

It was because they all trusted him. Today, the day where he was forced to remember he could barely trust himself. But right now, all he trusted was what this weapon represented. All he could see was wielding it in defense of his home, his Prince, his family in Lucis.

Cor looked wary, stiff, like he was prepared to run should Prompto attempt to embrace him. Like he had a fight or flight response to public displays of affection. Or like he was afraid the gift had offended him and was preparing to catch a steel case from being thrown in his face.

Yeah, he knew Cor fairly well. He knew that all he could do was hold the box hard, and snap down into a bow to express his gratitude. Which suited him just fine. Maybe Cor wouldn’t notice the tears in his eyes and the smile that was cracking across his face like a grimace, that hurt so much it felt like his cheeks were gaping wounds; that felt too much bigger for his body and all the things he never thought would make it to this point.

“Thank you! _So_ much!”

_I’ll use this gift to make you proud!_


End file.
